Human Emotion
by crittle247
Summary: Tag for season 2 "Human Traffic"-This was not new to her. Many nights throughout her life she had found herself in a dark room with one of her current team members helping them through a tough case.


Henrietta Lange took her time climbing up a flight of stairs to the first, and only floor, of a small apartment complex. It was well past midnight, and though the sky was dark by the quarter moon, the many street lamps and building security lights were enough for her to see just fine. The neighborhood was well asleep, yet in the distant police sirens and the soft roar of the freeway could be heard. As she reached the correct door number, Hetty reached in her small shoulder bag and pulled out a key ring with a single key and plastic tab that had only a last name on it. With a turn of her wrist, the key unlocked the dead bolt with a click.

Opening the door slowly, Hetty was greeted with a dark living room, which had enough light shining through the window blinds that she could make out a clean, almost untouched atmosphere. A tight smile formed on her wrinkled face as she quietly shut the door and locked it behind her. The living room and adjoining kitchen looked like she'd expect from someone who had been deep undercover for months.

Securing the key back in her purse, she moved towards the back of the apartment and found the bedroom. She hadn't been in the apartment before but could easily surmise its layout. The small window in the room was open brining in the soft glow from the city lights and the warm summer night air.

Hetty found the apartment's renter seated on the bedroom floor facing the window. His back was to her and leaning up against the foot of the bed. Seeing a chair in the far corner of the room, she slowly made her way to it. Worry seemed to fill her as her actions seemed to go unnoticed by the person of her interest. Now seated and facing him, Hetty was able to take in his appearance fully. He was sitting haphazardly on the floor with one leg tucked underneath the stretched out one. Roughed up clothes from the day's effects were still worn, the only thing missing was the designer shoes. Both hands held an item; one was understandable, while the other one worried Hetty even more. The left hand, resting on his thigh, had a firm grasp around the neck of a nearly empty bottle of what most likely was whisky given its amber colored liquid. While the right arm was stretched out to the side, palm facing up with a Beretta hand gun laid barely grasped.

Brown eyes peered from behind the dark round rimmed glasses and studied the blank face in shadows. Small red scabs covered the right side of his face, while the other held the faint coloration of a bruise. However, it was the blue eyes framed in red that held her attention the most. They were fixed straight out the window, glazed over with painful memories.

After surveying the situation, Hetty finally spoke. It was soft and gentle yet held a strong conviction, "You should be sleeping."

Blue eyes snapped to the chair she sat in. The quick eye movement seemed to give the rest of his body a jolt as well. "Hetty?" his voice was laced with confusion and alcohol. "What are you doin' here?"

"I make it a habit to check on my agents after a trying case, Mr. Deeks," she answered in a matter of fact kind of way.

"I'm not an agent, just a detective, if barely that." He spoke with his voice trailing off into a whisper as he took a drink from his cherished bottle.

Hetty waited for him to put the two-thirds empty bottle back to its place by this thigh. "You are assigned as a liaison to NCIS. Like it or not, Mr. Deeks but you work for me now," she said with a glint of a smile.

Marty gave out a scoff that jerked his body back against the bed.

"You need to rest," Hetty reminded once again.

"I had fifteen hours of drugged induced _rest_. I'm Fine," he said a bit harshly.

Hetty shook her head, "You, Mr. Deeks are far from fine."

His eyes went to find something else to look at as he took another drink. Hetty leaned back into the chair with a sigh. This was not new to her. Many nights throughout her life she had found herself in a dark room with one of her current team members helping them through a tough case. And from that experience, she knew how each one would react when they finally let their emotions break free. Marty Deeks on the other hand was still rather new to her and she hadn't learned everything about him just yet. She did not know if he was the type to break or snap. However, with that gun resting within his fingers, she knew she must tread with great caution.

"I've never lost a partner." Marty suddenly said, "I mean I've had many, but I never _lost_ one."

"It's a hard thing," she sighed. The loss of Agent Vail was still fresh with everyone's mind; herself included.

"Jess, was the one who put this whole thing together. I worked with her for months to set everything up. And I just when we were getting close on busting Lazik," Marty closed his eyes as if it would push back the emotion and memories.

"She was a good Detective."

"One of the best," he opened his eyes and a few tears escaped. "She should be alive. I…"

Hetty's eyes darted to the floor when she noticed that his grasp on the gun got a little tighter. Mr. Callen had told her about what happened when they arrested Detective Scarli. It was time to deal with the situation.

"Mr. Deeks, why do you have your gun?" It worried Hetty when confusion covered Marty's face.

"Wha-gun?" he looked down and saw his issued weapon in his hand. It looked foreign. "I, I don't know."

She tried a different approach. "You did a great job today, Mr. Deeks. You put a stop to a human trafficker, arrested a dirty cop, and survived a terrible case. You should be proud." She watched as he brought the drink to his lips, but did not loosen his grip on the gun. "But you also lost someone close to you. To grieve is normal, having a drink or two is understandable." Hetty moved to the end of the chair, "But to be holding your gun in this state is uncalled for. And frankly, Mr. Deeks it's the dumbest thing you have ever done."

Deeks opened his mouth to say something but Hetty wasn't done scolding him. "If we lost you to that gun tonight, not only would we have lost a great Detective and a member of this team. But Lazik and Scarli would have won. And I do hate losing when it could have been prevented."

Hetty watched as he slowly started to breakdown with each work she spoke. But a part of him was still fighting to keep his emotions inside like most men. She shook her head at the stubbornness.

"Losing an agent in the field is hard. But losing one by their own hand is devastating. I picked you to become a part of this team because you are a strong, resourceful man. This," she gestured to the gun, "this is not fitting for you."

Tears were steadily falling from Marty's eyes. His hands left the gun and whiskey bottle and ran them through his tousled hair. The emotion, the fatigue and strong alcohol all seemed to hit him at the same time. Hetty stood up from the chair and went straight for the gun. As she picked it up, she saw the safety was on and unloaded.

"What do I do now?" he almost begged as she reached over him to take the practically empty bottle from his reach.

"Now, Mr. Deeks you go and rest. You'll have a killer headache tomorrow and a case that needs to be closed with paperwork."

Using the support of the bed frame, Marty uneasily stood to his feet. Thankfully he only needed to take a few steps to get to the head of the bed. He stumbled head first into his pillow and didn't care if his legs were still dangling off the edge. Setting the bottle and gun on a nearby dresser, Hetty lifted Marty's legs onto the bed before pulling the covers over him. Grabbing the two items, she looked back at the young man and sighed. Hopefully soon the rest of the NCIS team will welcome Marty Deeks into their make shift family. So that if something bad happens again, he would have someone to lean on rather the bottle.

Henrietta Lange left the apartment of the LAPD liaison. Leaving the fading sent of alcohol in the kitchen sink, and a glass bottle in the empty trash. The Beretta hand gun lay on the coffee table holding down a business card with a number that she only ever gave to _her_ NCIS agents.


End file.
